


the indelibility of memory

by arabmorgan



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabmorgan/pseuds/arabmorgan
Summary: Mark keeps losing himself, piece by piece. The others try to hold him (and themselves) together.





	the indelibility of memory

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started writing this even before 7 For 7 was released (in fact I think I also abandoned it before the comeback oops), and also before all the news of Bam & Jackson moving out was confirmed so – it’s an AU for a reason! Anyway, this sat for like 3 months before I found this draft 2 weeks ago and realised if I didn’t finish it I was basically wasting 5k words of effort, so…I finished it.

_“Now, tell us more about your new album. I hear everyone took part in the production for it, isn’t that true, Mark?”_

_The camera angle shifts swiftly, from a group shot to a close-up of the red-haired male, who looks rather startled at the question._

_“Our new…album?” he repeats slowly, and the movement of his throat as he swallows is clearly visible. “Our title song –” he starts hesitantly, before stopping completely. His eyes dart to the side before focusing on Jinyoung, who is sitting to his right but is currently out of frame. He looks lost and confused, and abruptly the camera zooms out slightly to include Jinyoung, probably to save everyone the pain of seeing Mark’s frightened expression taking up the entire screen._

_Jinyoung’s eyes focus briefly on the image of his and Mark’s faces, before he chuckles warmly, one hand coming to rest lightly on Mark’s thigh. “Jaebum hyung composed our title track, so he should be the one to introduce it. That’s what Mark hyung was going to say, wasn’t it?” His eyes crinkle deeply at the corners, the very expression of genuine amusement._

_“Right, yes. Exactly.” There’s an odd smile on Mark’s face now, the most he can muster – his acting is not quite up to par with Jinyoung’s. Less than a second after the last syllable leaves his lips, the camera shifts its focus to Jaebum, who looks relaxed and ready to continue the interview._

_Perhaps the intention is to avoid airing Mark’s ineptitude as much as possible, but it only makes the contrast between his panicked gaze and Jaebum’s calm smile that much more obvious._  

* * *

It starts off small – the kind of small that nobody thinks twice about.

Most things do.

It’s one of those rare nights where all seven of them are actually back at the dorm at an hour that is not counted as ungodly. No schedules, no individual practice at the studios – just a good action movie and a bit of team bonding.

“I really want ice cream,” Bambam says, quite out of the blue, when they are about half an hour into the movie.

“Me too,” Yugyeom pipes up immediately.

Youngjae has been on the verge of dozing off on Jackson’s lap for the past ten minutes, but his eyes suddenly snap open at the sound of Bambam’s voice, and he repeats eagerly, “Ice cream?” Jinyoung lets out a laugh at that, one hand reaching out to ruffle at the younger boy’s hair.

Grunting as he stretches, Mark pushes himself to his feet without a word, earning a muffled cheer from the younger members. Jaebum pauses the movie as Mark pads into the kitchen, and everyone hears the rush of running water that is their oldest member getting himself a drink of water from the tap.

And then – silence. There is no sound of the freezer being opened, and Bambam raises his brows at Yugyeom, who shrugs in return. It’s inconceivable to them that _Mark_ , of all people, might be hiding out in the kitchen in order to plan some nefarious prank on them all.

Sure enough, ten seconds later, Mark pops his head around the corner, a sheepish grin adorning his face as six pairs of eyes simultaneously turn to face him. “Hey guys, what am I doing in the kitchen again? I know I’m here for _something_ , but I drank my water and then –” He gestures helplessly, fingers flicking outwards in a _poof_ motion.

“What, you mean getting us ice-cream?” Youngjae looks confused, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“ _Right_. I knew that.” Mark’s face scrunches up slightly before he retreats with a snicker, returning less than a minute later with seven popsicles in hand. A chorus of overlapping thanks sounds as he passes out the dessert, and the moment is soon forgotten when Jinyoung and Yugyeom start squabbling over the only chocolate-flavoured stick left.

It’s just a brain fart anyway – everyone gets those.

They finish the movie and head to bed, sleepy and content. Jackson and Bambam are flying off the next day, although not to the same place, and it’ll be a while before they’re all together again.

The next morning is a mess of tousled hair and sleepy gazes, with the managers mercilessly bundling the two flight-bound members out the door even before Bambam is done yawning. Yugyeom is sprawled out on the couch, long legs hanging off the edge as he snuffles sleepily after waving Jackson off from giving him an overly-affectionate goodbye kiss on the cheek.

“C’mon, breakfast and then we’re off,” Jaebum calls as he walks past on the way to the kitchen. Yugyeom barely even twitches in response, although Jinyoung taking a seat on his stomach a couple of minutes later has him trying to sit up in a hurry.

“ _Hyung_ –” he starts to whine, only to be cut off by Jaebum’s yell of, “Breakfast!” Jinyoung snorts, sliding off Yugyeom with a narrow-eyed look that very clearly says Yugyeom’s only being saved by Jaebum’s summons. It’s never a good idea to bring that famous chin out this early in the morning.

The harried leader of GOT7 has his hands full gathering his four remaining members and shepherding them to the studios before nine, so they can get a head start with the choreography for their new song. He’s halfway convinced that dance practice is less effort than his morning shenanigans, and really, after three years together, it shouldn’t be _this_ hard.

Still, it’s not like they don’t know how to get down to business. They manage to do a full run-through without too many slip-ups, and work out exactly how they want to express a couple of difficult-to-coordinate moves. There’s a general air of satisfaction wafting about the practice room when they break for lunch, so much so that Jaebum actually says yes when the two youngest members volunteer to go get food for everyone – although he does send Jinyoung along to chaperone as well, much to Yugyeom’s horror.

“You didn’t _really_ have to send Jinyoung,” Mark says with a laugh, as the sound of footsteps beyond the door fade from earshot. He is sprawled carelessly on the floor by Jaebum, who is sitting with his back to the wall, head tipped back and eyes closed, thigh inches from the top of Mark’s head.

Jaebum chuckles tiredly. “I doubt he minded tagging along. He’ll probably have more fun with the other two than _us_.”

Mark snorts, but is forced to concede. “Well, yeah. That sounds about right. I mean, look at us.”

“Old,” Jaebum sighs.

“Boring.”

“Tired.”

Mark pauses for a moment, then says in English, “Lame,” which for some reason makes Jaebum burst into laughter.

By the time the other three get back, taking perhaps a little longer than is really warranted just to get lunch, Mark and Jaebum are fast asleep in almost the same position they were left in – but only almost. Mark’s head is pillowed on Jaebum’s thigh, the leader’s hand resting on his shoulder, fingers curled ever so slightly. Jaebum himself is leaning so far to his left he’s in danger of tipping over, and it’s actually a miracle he hasn’t done just that yet.

“Oh my god,” Youngjae whispers, eyes flying wide open in exaggerated shock as he darts a look at Jinyoung.

It’s not like they’ve never fallen asleep in the practice room before – they have, in all sorts of combinations and positions, at every possible time – but finding Jaebum napping in the middle of practice is a bit of a novelty, even if it _is_ technically still break time. Jaebum is _intense_ , for lack of a better word, and more often than not he’s practicing choreography on his own or scribbling furiously in his music notebook whenever they have a spare minute or two.

“Someone take a picture,” Yugyeom hisses, his hands full of crackling plastic bags as he nudges Jinyoung in the back with his shoulder. Jinyoung glares at him, rubbing at his shoulder exaggeratedly, before whipping his phone out and proceeding to take at least half a dozen pictures of the dozing duo from multiple angles. The pictures are then immediately sent to their group chat, so that the evidence can never be erased regardless of whether or not he is still living.

Mark startles awake at the not-so-surreptitious whispering going on not three feet away from him, and he squints at a grinning Youngjae suspiciously from his supine position. “ _What_ ,” he mouths, shifting his head slightly into a more comfortable position, the back of his neck fitting snugly against the curve of Jaebum’s thigh.

Jinyoung shrugs in return, the very picture of innocence. “We got lunch,” he whispers, “but Jaebum hyung is still sleeping.” And then he smacks a still-giggling Yugyeom on the back of his head in a move that is really not subtle at all. This in turn wakes Jaebum up, so they finally manage to settle down for a late lunch – at least, until Jaebum checks his messages and lunges bodily over Youngjae so he can murder Jinyoung savagely.

Just another regular day at practice with GOT7, really.

The rest of the week passes by in much the same way. They’re still practicing, diligently learning their positions and practicing their moves, but they’re gearing up slower than usual, hindered by their lack of members.

“Hyung,” Yugyeom says, when Mark fumbles one of his moves for what must be the twentieth time in a couple of hours. It isn’t even a reprimand; his tone is one of utter bafflement, laced with no small amount of concern, because it’s not as if the oldest member is having trouble with one move in particular. Instead, it’s a series of different mistakes that’s been going on all day, and Yugyeom feels a little like he’s setting up dominoes, only to have them knocked over seconds after he’s gotten them upright.

Mark shakes his head, ripping his cap off and running his hand through his hair with a soft exhalation. “Sorry,” he says shortly, and the others don’t need any more clues to know that he is thoroughly mad at himself. “I don’t know what’s up with me. I just –” He breaks off sharply with another sigh and replaces his cap on his head, sweeping his sweaty fringe away from his forehead.

“You were fine yesterday,” Jinyoung points out with a small, encouraging smile. “Maybe it’s just an off-day.”

Mark only turns away in silence, frowning at himself in the mirrors as he begins to run through the dance again. It’s an odd move coming from him, especially when directed to Jinyoung, who is usually the most inoffensive to the two oldest members. But then, all of them know quite well that Mark has been anything but _fine_ all week – this isn’t his first mess-up, not when he’s been forgetting moves and missing cues for days.

In any other case, Jaebum might have blown up way before now, but he can’t find any reason to. It’s not as if Mark has been slacking off during practice; in fact, he’s been working harder than ever before _because_ of his mistakes, but somehow they can’t seem to see any improvement from all that practice. It just doesn’t make any sense.

The other four exchange worried gazes over their teammate’s head, before Jaebum clears his throat. “Right then, once more from the top.”

Everyone is relieved when Bambam bursts through the doors the very next afternoon, fresh from the airport but not too tired for a criminally loud, “What’s up!” as he comes into view.

“Bam!” Yugyeom yells, and the two maknaes immediately share some strange secret handshake before celebrating their reunion with a bout of intense dabbing. It’s almost as if they’ve been separated from each other for years rather than days, and Jinyoung openly rolls his eyes in the corner.

An impromptu break is instantly announced, and all six boys gather eagerly about Bambam’s suitcase, filled to the brim with delicious Thai snacks for them all.

“So, how’s practice been without me?” Bambam demands, grinning as he chews.

“Amazing,” Mark deadpans, and Jaebum snorts. The two are seated shoulder-to-shoulder, a position that Jaebum had chosen to initiate. If he can’t get to the bottom of Mark’s sudden funk, after all, then the only other thing he can offer is his companionship. Mark, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind – or particularly care, actually, but at least he’s not isolating himself like he usually does when he’s genuinely upset.

After a requisite bout of whining from Bambam about how unloved and unappreciated he feels, he finally gets down to business without any prompting. That’s one of the best things about Bambam, really, that he’s more than just an air-headed mood-maker.

“I took a look at the choreography video and practiced a bit at night,” he starts, leaning casually over Youngjae’s back when the latter reaches forward for a particular snack, “so we might be able to  start blocking later, actually. I think I’m pretty alright with the moves.” He presses down harder, ignoring Youngjae’s grunts of protest.

“Sounds good.” Jaebum nods. “Nice job, Bam.”

And it really is, because if they have to wait for both Bambam and Jackson to learn the choreography from scratch when they get back, they’re never going to get anywhere in good time.

Except adding one more person to the mix makes Mark more of a mess than he’s already been all day, and his expression gets worse with every passing repetition. It gets to the point where Youngjae can barely look Mark in the eye, hunching in on himself whenever they pass each other during practice, like he’s expecting to get punched like a certain air conditioner. Naturally, that doesn’t help Mark’s mood one bit.

Finally, he grits out, “I’m going to – I mean, out. I’m going out. I need a – a…I need to _rest_. A – a time where I’m not doing anything.” He can’t seem to find the right words, and everyone can see his fists clenching by his sides as he stalks away before Jaebum can respond.

“A break,” Jinyoung offers quietly, and Bambam stares at him like he’s gone mad. Is he _trying_ to provoke Mark further?

Instead, the sudden revelation of the word that’s been nagging at the edge of his mind the whole time drains the tension out of Mark’s shoulders, and he seems to shrink as he walks away. “Yeah, a break,” he agrees quietly. “Just a quick bathroom break, okay, guys?” He turns with a small smile to offer, before shutting the practice room door behind him.

Things don’t actually get better from there. Jackson joins them two days later with half the dance memorised, and Mark, who’s slowly been getting used to having Bambam back with them, is shoved back to square one when they start practicing properly as seven. They’re six-sevenths of the way to being a well-oiled machine, but that’s still one-seventh too little, and time slows down for no idol.

It’s a couple of weeks later when Mark peeks into Jaebum’s room sometime past eleven, looking downcast. Not that it’s a new thing – he’s been looking rather gloomy for a long while now – but it’s the first time he’s looked for company rather than brooding alone.

Jaebum looks up from where he’s lying on his bed scribbling in his notebook, and he is so surprised to see the person hovering uncertainly in his doorway that he doesn’t even mind the fact that his train of thought has been abruptly cut off.

“Mark,” he says, startled, and apparently that is all the invitation that is needed. A moment later, Jaebum finds himself pushed unceremoniously sideways against the wall as the older boy burrows his way under the blankets with him. A soft huff of amusement escapes his lips as he lightly nudges Mark in retaliation.

“Sorry,” Mark sighs, voice muffled from where he’s pulled the covers up over his head. “Just needed some – you know. Not to be alone.”

“What, friendship? Company?” They’ve taken to suggesting words for Mark’s occasional slip-ups, which have recently become much less occasional. Honestly, it’s been worrying Jaebum to no end that he has absolutely no clue what could be stressing Mark so much that he’s starting to lose the Korean vocabulary he’s spent years building up.

Mark hums in agreement. “Company. I wanted some company.”

“Okay,” Jaebum says easily, because that’s nothing to him; that’s the least that he can and wants to offer. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?” He feels odd saying that, something he’s always thought of as such an innate part of their seven-year friendship that it should go without mentioning at all. The resulting silence makes him feel a little sad.

He tries to go back to his song writing, but his heart isn’t really in it anymore, not with Mark a motionless lump beside him. Instead, he throws an arm over the dejected-looking lump and feels it shift, feels Mark’s arm draw upwards so that his hand comes to rest over a too-narrow waist.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Mark whispers, but the room is so silent that Jaebum hears every word anyway. “I don’t know why I’m suddenly like – I don’t know. Like _this_.” He makes an aborted motion with his hand, flipping a corner of the blanket off him by accident.

He glances up, face pale and uncovered, and Jaebum feels his heart break a little at how _scared_ Mark looks.

“It’s okay,” he says, because really, there _is_ nothing else to say. “You’ll be okay. We’ve almost got the dance down, and that’s the main problem.” He says nothing about Mark’s slipping language skills, but the thought hangs in the air between them anyway.

“I’ve always been quiet in interviews,” Mark points out, apropos of nothing, as he forces a laugh that sounds just as unnatural as it really is. “No one will notice.”

Jaebum starts to put his things away; it’s getting obvious that he’s not going to be doing anything more tonight. “We’ll be fine,” he says, with more confidence than he really feels, as he wriggles himself into place and steals some of his blankets back from the boy who has so rudely shoved his way into Jaebum’s bed.

“Night,” Mark mumbles. Mark, who can’t seem to stop losing weight, the hollows of his cheeks getting hollower with every passing week. Mark, who looks like he hasn’t slept well in God-knows-how-long, and is very close to rivalling a panda in terms of eye bags. Mark, who forces himself through each day with a stoicism that seems ingrained into his very expression.

This time, it’s Jaebum who stays up into the wee hours of the night, blinking into the darkness as he listens to Mark’s even breaths beside him. 

* * *

_Mark blinks groggily as he is shaken awake to the sight of a freshly-bathed Jackson, every wild movement sending little droplets of water flying onto his face._

_“What?” he mumbles, wanting nothing more than to push Jackson out of his room so that he can go back to sleep._

_“Mark, you haven’t showered,” Jackson says, a little too anxiously for someone who’s merely reminding his teammate to take a bath. “Your makeup – it’s all…” He trails off, and Mark finally forces himself up onto his elbows, only to see a horribly smudged imprint of foundation, eyeliner and lip tint smeared all over his pillow._

_“Shit,” he says eloquently. “I – I thought –” Well, he doesn’t know what he thought, but it’s certainly not that falling asleep on his bed with a face full of stage makeup was a good idea._

_Jackson pats his shoulder. “It’s okay. Here, I’ve got your clothes,” he says patiently, pushing a bundle of clothes into Mark’s arms once the older boy is standing. “I’ll change your pillowcase while you’re in the shower so you can sleep once you’re done, okay? Toilet is down the hall, to the right.”_

_“I’ve lived here for as long as you have, you know,” Mark mutters dryly, as he shuffles his way out of the room. “I know where the damn toilet is.”_

_“And don’t forget to wipe that makeup off!” Jackson yells, unrepentant._

_“Shut up!” Mark calls, and his subsequent laugh is the most genuine sound Jackson has heard from the American boy in much too long. His heart feels painfully heavy and feather light, all at the same time._  

* * *

“Fifteen minutes!” their manager yells, struggling to be heard over the commotion of seven boys dashing about a limited amount of space.

“Hey, has anyone seen my earphones?” Mark wanders about the dorm like he’s doing his best imitation of a lost child, seemingly oblivious to the way the other members are rushing about doing last-minute preparations for their comeback stage prerecording. “Hey,” he repeats, grabbing Bambam by the arm and tugging the younger boy to an abrupt halt. “Do you know where my earphones are?”

Bambam’s face scrunches up at that, the barest hint of exasperation flashing in his eyes before he visibly calms down. “Um,” he says slowly, drawing the single syllable out as he looks around with a frown. “Didn’t you lend them Jackson hyung yesterday? Because he left his on the plane?”

“Oh, right,” Mark says blankly, but he lets Bambam go anyway and makes a beeline for Jackson’s room, where their self-professed sexiest member is admiring himself in the mirror, occasionally doing a move or two of their dance.

“Mark!” Jackson crows, the moment he catches sight of the other in his mirror. “What’s up?”

Mark snorts, a reluctant grin tugging at his lips. “You have my –” he starts, before he suddenly flounders, brows furrowing and gaze sliding away from Jackson’s expectant stare. “My, you know – those…music-listening _things_.” He looks frustrated, gesturing uselessly at his ears as another word slips out of his grasp once more.

Jackson’s eyes fly wide open, his eyes lighting up in realisation. “Right, shit, sorry. I was going to return them to you, but I just totally forgot,” he groans, beginning to rummage around in his bag with single-minded fervour. Finally, he pulls said earphones out with a flourish, hopelessly tangled but thankfully still intact, and a look of vague horror crosses Mark’s face at the sight.

“Earphones,” Jackson says cheerfully, as Mark takes his beloved possession back into his keeping. His smile only fades once the older boy is out of sight.

This is very quickly becoming a _Problem_ , capital ‘p’ and all. It’s almost like Mark is living in a perpetual state of confusion these days, stopping randomly in the middle of his sentences or completely forgetting what he’s been told less than half an hour ago. Their choreography is sheer muscle memory, engraved in his very bones by now, so that he can keep going even when his attention wanders – and it certainly _does_ wander nowadays.

So far, they’ve been _handling_ it. They insert his missing words casually into their conversations, and remind him to shave when he looks like he’s about to go all day with a tell-tale shadow on his chin. They keep him away from the managers, and basically everyone else, for that matter. The six of them take turns hovering protectively about him all day, like angry hawks protecting their chick, because this Problem is getting big enough to have repercussions none of them want to face.

Jinyoung is the one who finds himself next to Mark when they’re on the way to M Countdown, and he can clearly hear the other’s feverish mumbling even over the subdued chatter in the car. Mark isn’t stupid, after all; as much as they’ve been pretending that everything’s well and good, these extra repetitions of his lines can only help.

Without really thinking, Jinyoung reaches over and takes Mark’s hand in his, squeezing lightly. Mark looks over tiredly, thick red fringe curling at the corners of his eyes, and gives a weak smile that only makes him look like he’s going to barf at any moment. Jinyoung wants to say something meaningful, but all he can think of are empty platitudes – _it’ll be alright; we’re going to kill it_ – so he ends up saying nothing at all.

As a matter of fact, they _do_ kill it. There’s not a single choreography mistake among the seven of them, and it’s not like Jinyoung is prone to bragging – he’s not _Bambam_ – but their vocals are in peak form as well. He swears he leaves the stage with ringing ears from the fans’ screams, and the mood is buoyant as they trundle back to their waiting room, greeting a couple of other groups along the way.

“We did well, guys.” Jaebum is beaming, his eyes crinkling into slits as he looks around at them with all the pride of a doting father. Mark looks relaxed, his eyes bright as he dabs gingerly at the sides of his face with his sleeve, sweat prickling along his upper lip. Yugyeom slings an arm around him, chattering excitedly to Bambam all the while, and Mark relaxes into the maknae’s sturdy hold.

Their only other schedule for the day is Hongkira, later that night, and they troop over to KBS right away, giggling among themselves like little kids as they take the requisite selcas and plan their ridiculous quiz answers in their assigned teams. Unfortunately for Bambam, he is forcibly removed from the maknae team in an effort to make their quiz answers slightly less impossible to guess. This leaves Yugyeom and Youngjae short a member, and after a bout of too-serious discussion, Jaebum and Jinyoung are kicked over to that group, leaving Amerithaikong to conspire together.

“Amerithaikong, _fighting_!” the three of them say forcefully, smirking at each other before they draw their heads together into a huddle, whispering conspiratorially over their blank sheet of paper.

Youngjae can’t help looking over at the excited trio as yet another burst of muffled laughter sounds over from the next table. Mark is scribbling madly with his lower lip between his teeth, nudging Bambam hard in the side when the Thai boy whispers something possibly immensely silly in his ear while pointing at a certain question. Jackson lets out a high-pitched cackle, then flops back in his seat, looking abruptly exhausted from all the energy he’s been burning.

Turning back, Youngjae catches Jaebum’s eye, and the two of them exchange the bare hints of a smile, quiet contentment laced with relief.

Amidst all the comeback stress, today has been a good day.

Later, Hongki will say jovially, “Mark-ssi! The fans have been complaining that you haven’t spoken enough today. Why don’t you give us some closing comments?”

And Mark beams, shy as ever when he is being called out, even if it is just in front of his members. “Firstly, thank you for inviting us to your show,” he starts politely, his words even and measured. “We had just as much fun today as the last time we were here, and I’m really looking forward to seeing the other team get their punishment later.” Here he pauses, an amused glint in his eyes as he allows the muffled protests of the losing team to be clearly heard.

“Thank you as well to our fans, our baby birds, for supporting us tirelessly. To those who have come all the way here today to support us, please go home soon and get some rest. It’s getting late. Everyone, remember to listen to our new album, _7 for 7_ , and we will do our best to show you better stages in the future. Thank you!”

“Thank _you_ for guesting, GOT7!” Hongki replies. “Now, we’ll end off with the song _Face_ , with lyrics by our very own winning team – Jackson, Mark and Bambam!”

“Amerithaikong!” Bambam somehow manages to screech out, before the beginning notes of the song cuts him off and everyone bursts into laughter.

It’s long past midnight by the time they return to the dorm and get around to showering. The only hint of light left when Mark steps out of the bathroom filters dimly from beneath Yugyeom and Bambam’s door. He pushes his own bedroom door wide, takes one look at the shadowed, empty space, saturated with the echo of too many thoughts born of quiet solitude, and turns on his heel like the devil himself is after him.

Jaebum lets out a loud breath when Mark slides in against his side, as unobtrusively as a full-grown male can be, but doesn’t otherwise stir. Eyelids drooping, hair still damp against the pillow, Mark curls himself slightly, pressing his back to Jaebum’s. The residual tension drains out of his body at the warm contact, and he finds himself drifting off quickly even with only a third of the bed to himself.

The next morning, Jaebum’s only reaction to finding his bed occupied by a second person is to yawn, untangle his legs from Mark’s, and promptly go back to sleep – at least, until his morning alarm blares less than twenty minutes later, earning a groan of dismay from his uninvited guest.

“Practice practice _practice_ ,” Jaebum mumbles with his eyes still tightly shut, repeating the refrain that has been on all of their minds for the past month.

“Shut up,” Mark mumbles, shifting so that he is face-down against the pillow, his best form of defiance.

“Come _on_.” Jaebum manoeuvres his way clumsily over Mark’s still-prone form so he can get off the bed, slapping the other’s back along the way. He doesn’t hesitate to shuffle out the door and over to the bathroom; no matter how contrary Mark may act, he is far too responsible to allow himself to go back to sleep.

Sure enough, when he walks back in, considerably brighter-eyed and fresher-faced, Mark is in an upright position on his bed, although his eyes are still very much closed. “Bathroom’s free,” Jaebum says, pulling off his shirt in a single swift motion, before he pauses at the sound of a door slamming. “But not anymore. You loser.”

Mark’s eyes snap open at that, a lazy grin exposing his teeth. “Loser,” he echoes, barely blinking as he watches Jaebum strip his shorts off as well. “You’ve lost weight.” It’s an off-hand statement, without a hint of judgement in his tone, but Jaebum can’t help bristling at that all the same. Pulling a random shirt out of his closet, he turns to face Mark with a defensive frown.

“ _You_ look who’s talking,” he grumbles, walking over to cup Mark’s face in his hands, tilting the older boy’s head slightly so he’s looking up at Jaebum. “I don’t understand what’s happening to all the food you’re eating.” His thumb rubs lightly over the prominent jut of Mark’s cheekbones, and Mark sighs delicately, eyes falling shut at the soothing motion.

Jaebum stares – he can’t help it – at the butterfly sweep of Mark’s lashes against his skin, the deepening shadows under his eyes and the curved bridge of his nose. It’s too late to go back, but he wishes for a moment that things could stay like this – the two of them, on a quiet morning, exchanging gentle banter with an undertone of concern, where Mark is as close to _before_ as they can get.

“You always think too much.” Mark’s eyes open slowly, his gaze meeting Jaebum’s, quiet amusement still suffusing his face. “Move, I have to go wash up.” Jaebum lets himself be pushed away, feels the momentary affectionate pat on his butt before Mark wanders out of his room, yawning widely.

A few hours later, everything goes to hell.

They’re all seated on the floor, crowded around multiple boxes of takeaway, when Mark suddenly gets up, grunting as he stretches. “Toilet,” he says, by way of explanation, as he leaves the practice room. Jinyoung nods, and Jackson’s eyes follow him on the way out, but most of them are too intent on lunch to think too much about Mark taking a toilet break.

It isn’t until the boxes are all but cleaned out that Jaebum suddenly slams down his chopsticks, making Bambam jump. “Where’s Mark?” he says simply, and he sees the same urgency in his voice translate to panicked realisation in everyone else’s eyes. As one, they leap up and stampede for the door like they’ve just heard that the building is on fire.

“Wait, _wait_ ,” Jinyoung snaps, fighting to be heard over the sudden terrified buzz of five other boys. “Two of us stay, in case Mark hyung comes back. You two, back.” He taps Bambam and Yugyeom lightly, before ushering everyone else out, and Jaebum can feel the bewildered fear of the maknaes’ gazes boring into his back.

“Everything will be fine,” he says, turning back to the two youngest members, but his words ring hollow even to his own ears. That’s exactly what he’d told Mark as well.

Jinyoung is already in motion, impossibly clear-headed even under pressure. “Hyung, you and Youngjae –” He points down to the left, in the direction of the toilets, and then grabs Jackson’s arm, pulling the shorter male off to the right, his strides long and swift.

Jaebum’s mind feels frazzled with fear, his heart slamming painfully against his ribcage. How long has Mark been gone? How could they not have _noticed_? He storms into the male bathroom with single-minded ferocity, and startles himself almost as badly as Wonpil, who jumps at the sound of the slamming door.

Jaebum forces a brief smile, already moving past the confused keyboardist to push the stall doors open one by one, but they all turn up empty. “Lost something important, sorry,” he calls airily as he sweeps out of the bathroom, past Youngjae, who is holding the door open anxiously.

“You don’t think Mark hyung got _lost_. Right?” Youngjae says as they continue down the corridor, a dull sort of horror infusing his voice as he realises that he might not, in fact, be too far off from the truth. Jaebum only closes his eyes and exhales through his nose, and tries not to panic more than he already is.

It takes another agonising three minutes before Jaebum’s phone buzzes with a message from Jackson. A simple five words: _We found him. Come back._

They arrive back at the dance studio moments after the other trio; it’s evident in the way the other five members are still clustered near the doorway, where the maknaes must have accosted them the moment they returned. One of Mark’s hands is clutched in an unusually-subdued Bambam’s as Jinyoung speaks quietly to them all.

Jaebum’s gaze seeks out Mark’s the moment he enters the studio, and for some reason it’s suddenly harder for him to keep it together now that the crisis is over and he has more than blind instinct driving him forward. Mark looks none the worse for wear, but his expression is blank and stoic, the way he always gets when he’s horribly upset and desperately trying to hide it.

“Mark hyung got lost,” Jinyoung repeats, turning to face Jaebum and Youngjae as they enter, and there is a pointed, fearful emphasis to his words.

“I got turned around,” Mark says quietly, staring somewhere off into the distance, seemingly unaware of the way every pair of eyes snaps to him the moment he starts speaking. “I couldn’t remember the way back, but I – I didn’t tell anyone. I told them I was just taking a break from practice. Just walking.”

“Told who?” Youngjae asks timidly.

Mark blinks, drawing back into himself and focusing on the younger boy. “Whoever I happened to meet on the way,” he says simply, and then he looks around at each of them in turn, the corner of his lips quivering with emotion for a bare moment before he manages to gather himself and say, quietly, “I knew you guys would find me.”

Yugyeom finally begins to sniffle at that, and Youngjae exhales softly. For him, there can be no greater comfort than knowing that no matter what happens, Mark will always know GOT7. 

* * *

_“But you’re sure that you’re alright?” his father asks again, for the third time in the past twenty minutes. There’s that familiar frown that manifests between his grey brows, the one that says quite plainly that he knows there’s something hanging in the air unsaid, and Mark feels his resolve waver._

_He’s not okay. He’s not, but he grins and scoffs, and says lightly like it’s the last thing that’s ever crossed his mind, “Why would I not be alright? Maybe I just look tired.”_

_The frown deepens, but his father sighs in acceptance. “Ah, if you say so. I know my son is a busy man. You have to sleep more or your skin will be bad, understand?”_

_“I know, I know,” he groans, even if the often strange, sometimes irrelevant parental reminders make his heart ache and his eyes prickle. “I really have to go. I’ll text you, okay? I love you.”_

_He looks for Jackson after the call is over, curling up beside the other boy on the couch and breathing out, long and deep. “I just spoke to Dad,” he says, in English because it’s getting harder and harder for him to bridge the gap between languages with every transition. “He kept asking if I was okay.”_

_Jackson doesn’t say a word, just glances over at him before shifting in his seat and setting an arm around his shoulders. It’s a comforting weight, grounding him, and Mark closes his eyes. I’m scared, he wants to say, but he doesn’t – he doesn’t have to._

_Fear has become an all-too-common emotion among the seven of them these days._  

* * *

“Supper!” Mark says at once, the moment the V Live is over, and he is met with a chorus of excited agreement. It might already be midnight in Hong Kong, but they’re all still riding high on the elation of winning yet another award, and the mood is buoyant. Only Jackson is preoccupied, perched on the edge of the bed, no doubt busy texting back and forth with his parents.

Mark wonders if it will get old, this all-consuming joy and disbelief each time their name is called out, in front of more people than he has ever dared to imagine. Almost four years now and he still finds himself staggered by everything they have achieved, everything their fans have deemed them worthy to achieve.

He doesn’t want to lose this feeling.

“You coming?” Jinyoung asks, as he slides his arms into his thick winter coat, turning to raise his brows at a still-seated Jackson.

Jackson looks up, unsmiling for just a moment before the question registers and he grins. “I’m going to find my mum,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Have fun,” Jaebum calls as they’re leaving, eyes curving into that soft, fond smile that he reserves just for his members. “Give our greetings to your parents.” One hand resting on the small of Mark’s back, he shepherds the other members out of the hotel room and into the corridor, hushing them every so often whenever Yugyeom and Bambam’s antics threaten to get too rowdy.

The chilly night air is a relief after hours of sitting, every moment spent governing their facial expressions as they watch each stage pass by. Their manager falls back, occupied on his own phone, leaving the boys to bicker among themselves about what exactly they will be eating.

The moment their manager is out of earshot, Mark reaches out to catch Jinyoung by the arm, moving out of Jaebum’s reach so he can whisper in Jinyoung’s ear, “Where are we?”

Jinyoung stills, but his steps don’t falter. “Hong Kong,” he replies calmly, setting his hand over Mark’s comfortingly. “We just attended MAMA, and we’re going to get supper now.” He doesn’t add the _remember?_ at the end of his sentence, because he knows that Mark doesn’t.

Mark glances around – at the streets that are still busy even at midnight, at the Chinese words adorning every storefront – and blinks, lips pressing together. “Right,” he says, resigned, and he presses close to Jinyoung despite the thick down of their coats between them.

Later, he will look around, bewildered, and ask, “Where’s Jackson?”

And even later, on the way back, again, “Where are we going?”

Yugyeom used to think that he would never get used to it – Mark being like this, needing to be taken care of instead of the other way around – but it turns out it’s possible to get used to anything after all. “Shirt,” he cuts in absently, when Mark loses the word, before tuning back in to Youngjae’s excited babble on his other side. He keeps one hand hooked in the crook of Mark’s elbow all the while, the precautionary action more second nature now than an affectionate gesture.

He still remembers the Mark who brought him all the way to America for the first time, who would laugh along with him when he blundered on live video, who has been the best older brother he could ever have asked for – but he also knows the Mark who sometimes wakes up not knowing where he is, and the Mark who forgets the title of their latest album during interviews, and the Mark who doesn’t always remember what day of the week it is and what schedule they have that day.

Mark is still cognizant enough to put on a show each time he forgets, but Yugyeom doesn’t know how long they can keep this up.

“It’s late. Don’t stay up too long, all right?” Jaebum says sternly as they’re preparing to pair off and return to their assigned hotel rooms. He raises his brows pointedly at Yugyeom and Bambam, as if to insinuate that the instruction is mostly meant for them.

Yugyeom smiles innocently back at him.

“C’mon,” Bambam says impatiently, already yawning, and Yugyeom almost lets go of Mark’s elbow without looking back. But he _does_ look back, and some odd impulse makes him step closer to wrap his arms about the older boy’s torso.

“Love you, hyung,” he mumbles, head dipping to bury his nose in Mark’s shoulder, his words so light that the words hang in the air just between the two of them. He doesn’t see Mark’s smile, equal parts grief and affection, as he rubs at the sleeve of Yugyeom’s coat hard, almost roughly, like it’s the last time he might get to do it.

“Love you too, Gyeom,” he breathes out. “Goodnight.” His fingers curl and clutch at the sleeve in his grasp for just a moment, before he steps back and lets himself be whisked away by Jaebum.

They’re lying awake in the dark, neither of them anywhere close to slumber, when Jaebum says tentatively, as if testing the sound of his words in the air, “Maybe we should think about telling someone. Maybe there’s something – you know, medically –” He breaks off, and the painful pause stretches until Mark snaps it.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says tiredly. “We all know there’s no way to – to make this – to make me well again.”

“You know this is going to fall apart at some point. We can’t keep doing this forever.” The words sound cold, but Jaebum’s voice is small, a plea for help that he has kept unvoiced till now. He turns onto his side, squinting into the darkness, trying to make out Mark’s form in the bed across from his, waiting for words of reassurance that will never come.

There is a rustle of sheets as Mark shifts as well. “You’re our leader. I said I’d always follow you; I meant it then, and I mean it now.” His words are forgiveness for something that has yet to happen, an acceptance of whatever Jaebum might choose to do – but in saying so, he has returned the full weight of responsibility to Jaebum’s shoulders alone.

This time, it is Jaebum who burrows his way under Mark’s covers, forcing the older boy to shift to the side with a grunt that sounds more annoyed than he really is. Mark flings an arm over him anyway, tucking his body snugly against Jaebum’s, snuffling softly as he gets comfortably resituated.

One of Jaebum’s hands comes to rest over Mark’s, tracing the length of his fingers one by one. “Please don’t forget,” he whispers out into the vastness of the room, a child’s futile hope.

Mark closes his fist lightly, trapping Jaebum’s fingers between his own. “I’m trying,” he says, and Jaebum can hear the tremble of unshed tears in his voice. “I really am.”

It’s not enough, but it’ll have to do.

Six hours later, Mark blinks awake blearily and freezes, eyes darting about to take in the unfamiliar décor surrounding him. He wants to sit up and get his bearings, but confusion has rooted him in place. There is a blank where last night’s memories should be, and it takes another second for him to realise that he’s forgotten to breathe.

Sudden movement beside him makes him flinch, but the voice that murmurs, “Mark?” has him gasping with sudden relief. He turns, coming face-to-face with a slit-eyed, tousle-haired Jaebum, and the sense of comfort that floods him seems to empty him out at the same time. He shivers, heart still pounding with very real terror, and goes limp when Jaebum draws him close.

“We’re in Hong Kong. We won World Performer at MAMA last night.” Jaebum’s voice pours over him like honey as gentle fingers thread through his hair, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath as he tries to fill in the gaps in his mind.

It feels like he’s missing pieces of himself every time he so much as turns around these days. He’s not the only one who’s exhausted, and god, he loves his members so much that it’s almost a physical ache. He doesn’t want to be the one to destroy them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against Jaebum’s chest, and he lapses into English halfway without even realising. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m _sorry_ –”

“Don’t,” Jaebum says thickly. His skin quivers beneath Mark’s fingertips, and Mark finally realises that Jaebum is crying too.

It’s Jaebum who draws away first, because he has always been like this, accustomed to keeping his pain to himself. He sits up and rests his face in his hands, and tries to stop his shoulders from shaking. Mark watches him hurt silently, and hates himself just a little more than the last time he can actually remember hating himself.

They spend some time packing after that, moving around each other like wraiths existing on different planes, until Mark shuts his suitcase with a decisive snap and wonders out loud, “I hope I didn’t forget anything.”

Jaebum turns to stare at Mark, who stares right back at him with his mouth half-open. “I can’t believe you just said that,” Jaebum says. There’s a world of disbelief in his tone as he starts to laugh, slowly at first – like he’s not quite sure that he’s allowed to – before Mark joins in, and then they both laugh themselves into hysterics, to the point that they can barely stand.

It’s the beginning of the end, for all of them.

Mere weeks later, Bambam and Yugyeom are lazing on the sofa watching one of Yugyeom’s current drama obsessions when Bambam stretches, flopping over to peer in the direction of the kitchen. “Gyeom,” he says slowly, nose scrunching slightly. “Is it just me, or do you smell smoke?”

Yugyeom straightens abruptly, looking over at Bambam in alarm. They’re alone in the dorm with Mark, and the realisation sends them leaping to their feet.

“Hyung?” Bambam calls, entering the kitchen with Yugyeom hot on his heels. They are met with the rather ominous sight of black smoke pouring out of the microwave, right into a perplexed Mark’s face.

“Whoa, what happened?” Yugyeom blurts out, brows disappearing into his thick fringe.

Mark looks over at them and winces. “I’m not sure?” he says, although it’s more of a question than an admission.

Violently fanning the remnants of the smoke away with a random magazine, Bambam squints cautiously into the charred-looking microwave, mouth pulling into a grimace as he steps back, shaking his head slightly at the smell. “You put a _fork_ into the microwave with your food,” he sighs. “Seriously, hyung?”

Mark hesitates, looking between Bambam and Yugyeom like a chastised child. “Are we…not supposed to?”

Bambam slaps a palm over his eyes in disbelief. “Hyung, _you’re_ the one who’s told me not to put metal in the microwave only about a million times.”

“Oh.” Mark’s shoulders hunch further at that, and Bambam immediately feels guilt slithering in to replace his frustration.

On Mark’s other side, Yugyeom lets out a high-pitched, nervous chuckle. “Well, at least you didn’t start a fire or anything. Imagine what the others would say if we burned down the dorm while they were gone.”

Bambam smiles weakly, thankful for the distraction, and pipes up, “Jinyoung hyung would probably blame _us_ first, not Mark hyung. Why are you even making food anyway? We literally just ate.”

“I was –” Mark starts, and then he stops, staring at Bambam. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“You –” Bambam and Yugyeom exchange a discomfited glance. “But you have. We ordered pizza in about two hours ago, all three of us.”

Mark’s eyes flick to the still-open microwave as he swallows convulsively. “I don’t – I thought –” he sputters, his knuckles whitening over his grip on the countertop.

Yugyeom looks just as scared as Mark as he tries to cut in, “It’s okay if you’re still hungry though. You can –”

“I need to – I need to go,” Mark interrupts, and then he adds in English, “Back to my room. Sorry.” He pushes past Yugyeom on the way out of the kitchen, and the younger boy doesn’t try to hold him back.

The two boys are still until the quiet _snick_ of a door closing sounds down the hallway – because Mark only ever breaks things and slams doors when he is furious – and then Yugyeom sinks to the tiled floor, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “It’s getting so bad, Bam,” he whispers. “It’s happening more and more now.”

“It’s happening all the goddamn time is what’s happening,” Bambam spits, surprising even himself with the amount of vitriol coating his words. He’s just so _angry_ right now – at the world, at fate, at whatever gods might exist out there – at anything and anyone he can blame for putting one of his favourite people in the world through what might as well be a living hell.

They’re still staring helplessly at each other in the distinctly smoky kitchen when they hear the front door open. “Kids, I’m home!” Jinyoung calls in a cheery, singsong tone, before he pauses for a good three seconds in what is likely to be mild horror. “What have you two done now?”

The damning words come even before Jinyoung sets foot in the kitchen, and Bambam raises his brows at Yugyeom in an unmistakable _I told you so_ expression. Yugyeom only grimaces in return; in all honesty, he thinks he would rather be explaining his own blunders than what really happened.

The tolerant amusement on Jinyoung’s face fades slowly into unmasked concern in the face of the maknaes’ nervous babble, and he disappears into Mark’s room soon after, but not before leaving stern instructions for them both to clean out the microwave – “and air the place, would you?” he adds, before letting out a loud sneeze.

Jinyoung finds Mark lying face-down on his bed, looking like he might be doing his utmost best to suffocate himself with his pillow. He turns over only when Jinyoung takes a seat on the edge of the bed and pats his back lightly, letting out a soft huff when he realises who his uninvited guest is.

“Hey,” Mark sighs, staring blankly up at the ceiling with reddened eyes. “How was Inkigayo?”

Jinyoung shrugs. “It was fine. I mean, it’s pretty much the same every week. I’m going to miss it though.”

“Yeah?” Mark tilts his head slightly and gives Jinyoung a tiny smile, just a subtle upward tilt of his lips. It’s as much comfort as he can afford to give at the moment, and Jinyoung can’t help smiling back.

“I heard about what happened,” Jinyoung presses, as gently as he knows how. “How’re you feeling?”

Mark’s eyelids flutter shut, chest rising and falling rapidly in a deep sigh. “I think I scared the kids,” he says, without opening his eyes.

“I put them on clean-up duty,” Jinyoung says, with just the slightest hint of pride in his voice.

Mark cracks a genuine grin at that, one eye peeking open to catch Jinyoung’s expression of triumph. “You’re terrible,” he says flatly, and then, after a brief silence, “This isn’t going to have a happy ending, is it?”

Jinyoung doesn’t pretend to misunderstand his words, but he does lie back, spine arching over Mark’s stomach so that he’s staring up at the ceiling as well. “I don’t see how it can,” he says simply, and the words hang over them, weightless yet menacing all the same.

There’s a different kind of ease with Jinyoung than with Jaebum, Mark thinks. Jinyoung is far more grounded than Jaebum will ever be, and it is easier to accept the inevitable truth in his presence than with Jaebum’s angry, hopeful denials echoing in his ears. Mark will soon reach the point where lies are impossible, and they both know it.

He’s just – sorry. Sorry that his members will be the ones to suffer when he probably won’t remember enough half the time to feel the full effects of the fallout. Sorry that he’s hidden this from his family for so long. Sorry that they didn’t have more time.

If it were Jaebum by his side, Mark might have said, “I wish we could go back,” but it is Jinyoung’s warm weight resting on him instead, so he says nothing at all.

He just stares at the ceiling and thinks about a past that, for him, will soon cease to exist.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“ _...do not panic. The re-acclimatisation process has been successfully completed. It is perfectly normal to experience minor disorientation upon extraction from the simulated reality. However, should you find yourself experiencing identity confusion, headaches, or other hazardous side-effects, our emergency button is located by your right hand. Please do not attempt to leave your pod prematurely as…_ ”

His lashes flutter slightly against the soft glow of artificial lighting, momentary confusion seizing him before he settles back against the moulded cushion. Extraction has never been his favourite part of an otherwise faultless pastime – the fact that re-acclimatisation manifests itself differently each time has ever been an annoyance to him.

This sequence has taken one of the worst tolls on him emotionally; his chest pangs, phantom memories of anguish forcing a sigh from his lips.

Once, people had started disappearing, the simulation quite literally crumbling about him, preparing his mind for a smooth exit – but he hadn’t understood, of course. He’d had his members, and that had been quite enough for him.

He should probably take a break, he thinks. Some fresh air would do him good, or at least do him no harm.

Just one more sequence, and then he’ll stop.

He doesn’t give himself time to think, to reconsider. “Continue. Two weeks,” he says, as clearly as he can manage with a voice hoarse from disuse.

“ _Thank you for purchasing our fourteen-day package. Please wait as we load your simulation._ ”

The soft whir of the pod starting up sounds in his ears and vibrates through his spine.

Mark closes his eyes and exhales. _Just once more._

.

.

.

.

.

.

Mark wakes to a light push against his arm, eyes opening to near-darkness. A sliver of light streams in through the doorway, but Jaebum is blocking most of it with his proximity.

“What?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. One hand reaches up to catch Jaebum by the wrist, stopping the younger boy from giving him another push.

“I’m hungry. Do you want to get supper?” There is the slightest hint of a wheedling tone in Jaebum’s voice, and Mark’s lips curve into an involuntary smile at the rare occurrence. As if he has ever been able to say no to Jaebum.

He lets go of Jaebum’s wrist and arches into a stretch. “Two minutes,” he grunts, manfully resisting the urge to press his face back into his pillow.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Jaebum says, just a little too cheerily. Mark’s gaze follows his silhouette as he returns to the doorway, and then there is the soft click of a switch before light floods the room, almost burning into his unprepared retinas. Mark bites back a curse and immediately squinches his eyes shut, hearing Jaebum’s quietly obnoxious chuckles fade away down the corridor.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Mark runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, patting it down half-heartedly where it sticks up in unruly tufts. It’s two in the _morning_ ; Jaebum must be out of his mind.

He’s just getting sluggishly to his feet when he spots his coat hanging on the doorknob with an expectant sort of air to it, a black facemask hanging out of the coat pocket. The sight brings a smile to his face, and his throat feels suddenly thick with emotion for no discernible reason at all. Jaebum must have prepared everything just so, even before waking him, never even considering the unlikely possibility of a rejection.

“Punk,” he mutters, staring at the setup for a moment longer.

Then he grabs his coat, slides one arm through the sleeve, and hurries out of the room. Jaebum is waiting for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for bringing in the 'it was all a dream!!!!' cliche but I didn't really want to go the death and despair route either oops. Also I hope this doesn't feel as messy and inconsistent as I think it is? OTL


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